The Tortured Life of Jane Volturi
by currierbell
Summary: Story of Jane's life. I know it's been done before, but never like this! If you hate Jane I don't care...READ IT ANYWAY. You'll like it. Rated T for violent scenes.
1. Child of the Wilderness

The Tortured Life of Jane Volturi

Chapter 1

When I was born, I was not expected to live because my twin brother and I were so small. We weighed only about as much as a loaf of bread, combined. My mother didn't even bother to name me until I was two weeks old and there was a 1% chance that I would live. She named me Maria Ariana Gianni, and my brother Alessandro Dmitri. I had ten older brothers, and by the time I was seven I had four more. We were a family of eighteen, though only five survived until we were thirty. My parents hated me, and I can confidently say this. I was the only blemish on a perfect record. They had almost had sixteen boys, but I came along and ruined their dream. Therefore, almost every chore in the household was enforced on me.

We were exceedingly poor. I think that's part of the reason Mother didn't want a daughter – she didn't want to have to pay a dowry. We had a little farm out in the middle of nowhere, and I had to care for all the animals and plant all the crops. In the fall, I had to harvest all the crops and kill the livestock, then traverse five miles with a loaded wagon to sell them. It was hot, hard, work without an ounce of glory. I got no respect from my family members, except my younger brother. Marcus was two years younger than me, and yet I felt he was closer to being my twin than Alessandro was. He called me Gianni. I had once asked my mother what the Gianni part was doing in my name – most people didn't have one middle name, let alone two. She said it had just been an impulse, something you could easily throw away. For that reason, it became an uncontested part of my name. Marcus called me Gianni whenever I talked to him in secret.

And we did talk secretly, often. When I was seven, a horrible smallpox epidemic ravaged our little town. The first person to get it in our family was Mother. She had a small fever that simply did not go away. Then she started getting marks on her skin. Soon, Father and almost every one of my older brothers had it. My younger brothers all died within a week, save Marcus. Mother buried Giulianno, Mario, and Ricardo tearfully. Then they just started dying like the chickens at slaughter time. It got to the point where the only living humans in the house were me, Marcus, Alessandro, Mother, and my eldest brother Pietro. At this point, I felt like my life had reached boiling point. It was so terrible, so awful that nothing could go wrong anymore. It had to improve from here.

As was expected, I was wrong.

I was mopping Mother's forehead with a cool rag to lessen the fever when suddenly she started kicking in her bed. I was sure it was one of the "fever fits," but it turned out she was lucid. "No!" she shouted, very loudly for someone who was sick. "I don't want you to take care of me!"

I stopped the rag, confused. "Mother, you have a fever, you're delirious."

She kicked over the bowl of soup I'd set next to her. Three hours' worth of toiling splashed onto the floor. I gasped and hastened to wipe it up. Mother continued her tirade. "I don't want to owe you a debt," she commanded. "Go away. Don't care for me. If I live, I don't want it to be because of you."

Certainly, she wasn't coherent. I wrung out the towel into the bowl and picked out little specks of dirt. "You don't know what you're saying. Rest. Go to sleep."

She pushed me weakly, but it was hard enough that I splashed more soup on myself. "No. I don't want you. Go away." Her words stung. For the first time, I believed she might actually know what she was saying. Arguing with her was like taking tiny footsteps toward the edge of a cliff, knowing I would have to jump. "Get one of your brothers to help me. Not you. I can't owe you."

I stood at the edge, looking down into a deep chasm. "No, Mother. You have to live. I...I love you." I'd jumped. I had made the fatal plunge. There was no guarantee at all that anything could catch me. I had never told anyone I loved them before, not even Marcus and especially not Mother. With the former, it was kind of implied. With the latter, it was setting yourself up for heartbreak. You knew it wasn't mutual. Mother loved no one. She swatted me away weakly from her bedside.

"I don't care. I don't want your love." Fallen. I was lying beneath the cliff, a thousand spikes sticking through me. I wanted to throw up, wanted to die from the smallpox, wanted to burst into tears, but I couldn't. I could never show Mother I was weak, never show her how she had stabbed me through my heart.

I ran to the kitchen where Pietro was lying on the floor. The tall emaciated nineteen-year-old took up little space on the kitchen floor. I looked at his tattered brown hair, his closed eyes that were such an angelic blue when they were open. I tried to shake him awake and was instantly repelled. His skin was like ice, hard and frozen. I drew in a breath. "No," I breathed silently, but it was too late. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, this brother that I had always looked up. He thought of me as nothing more than a pest; I thought of him as my savior, and the world's. In life, he had been a vampire hunter. I remembered the wonderful stories he used to tell.

_"Any action with the monsters?" my father asked as he slurped his vegetable soup. My brother was home for a few days, a priceless treasure. I hung on to every word he spoke when he was here. I idolized him. I worshipped him.  
Pietro took a bite of his lamb. Mother had had me kill a lamb especially for Pietro's homecoming dinner. "Yes, sir," he answered Father respectfully. "We've been having some trouble with vampires."  
"Vampires?" Mother repeated, a frightened look in her eyes. Pietro nodded.  
"Vampires," he confirmed. "They're horrible creatures. They look beautiful. Their skin shines like a marble statue, and in the sun it glitters like a priceless gem. They smell like the freshest flowers, but it's all a lure. They use this to make their prey follow them, come willingly with them. Then they suck all their blood from their body. When they've fed, their eyes are demonic. The only way to keep them away is to use garlic, or baptize them. But the most efficient way is to burn them at the stake. It's the only way. If you tear them to pieces, the pieces reassemble themselves. They're frightening."_

I had seldom been allowed to listen, but when I did, I memorized each and every word. Later, I repeated them to Marcus, who wrote them down. I ran up to the attic, my bedroom, and pulled out the pieces of parchment from behind a pile of straw. Phrases jumped out at me.

_Can't stand crosses...met one once in France, you should see the scar...when hungry, they can't resist feeding..._

I held these pieces of paper in my hand for a second, then raced back down to the kitchen. "Pietro, you can't be dead," I croaked. "Look. I still have some of you left." I waved the papers in front of his face, but his thick eyelashes did not flicker open. His skin did not lose its cold, preserved feeling.

Disregarding Mother's feeling, I lay down beside his body and cried. Two people had deserted me. They wouldn't be the last. 


	2. Born into Emptiness

Chapter 2

As I predicted, my mother died within a few days without my care. I didn't shed a single tear. She wouldn't have returned the favor for me. So, my brothers and I were all alone. We were three children, ages seven and five, and we had no one in this world. Marcus was the only actual survivor of the smallpox, since Alessandro and I never actually got it. Marcus lived through it, barely. He had once been a healthy boy, a bit thin, but bright-eyed and rosy cheeked. Now he was paler than a ghost, and his eyes had the haunted look of someone who'd been to hell and back. He also got fits. These fits occurred without rhyme or reason; sometimes, for no reason, he would collapse and shake and foam at the mouth like a rabid dog. It was not a pretty sight, and it was usually I who had to calm him down.

We were forced to become some of many beggars, orphans who had lost their parents and now lived on the streets. If we were poor before, now we were positively destitute. We had to scrounge, literally on the streets, for any scrap of food. We begged. We stole. We became creatures no one could be proud of, least of all ourselves. We'd go to the merchant fairs, where we had worked out a modus operandi. Alec, as we called Alessandro now, would haggle with whoever was selling, telling them that their prices were so high it ought to be considered stealing. Sometimes he'd even get in a fight. Meanwhile, we'd sneak as much food as we could into our pockets. It didn't work, most of the time. We were nearly always caught, so we moved everywhere throughout Italy. From Florence to Sicily to Rome, we went everywhere because we stole from everywhere. That's the life I've been living up till now.

Currently, I am sleeping on a cobblestone street, tucked away in a corner alley. I am ten years old, and Marcus just turned nine. We're on the outskirts of a small town near Rome. I forget its name. The streets are a discomfort every orphan gets used to. It feels cold and hard beneath my back. I roll over onto my stomach, but that of course does nothing. I shiver under the cold moonlight. I can't sleep. For some reason, I am thinking of hell. Will our stealing condemn us? Our lifestyle is not one I'd wish upon my worst enemy, if only for the simple reason that it forces us to commit a crime. We're called ruffians, street rats, nuisances. I know how other people view us. Are they right? They can be, certainly. We've stolen from nearly every vendor in all of Italy. I keep wishing for more. There has to be some other way we can earn money. And then it dawns on me. Sometimes, we see young boys working for the merchants. They weigh meat and other food, and give change. Perhaps we could be like them. Marcus could never have a job; his fevers were just too unpredictable. But Alec and I, we can work. I'll work twenty hours a day if it meant I could feed Marcus. There was just one stipulation. I'd only ever seen boys apprentice with merchants. Young girls could never work. The very idea! I'd have to cut my hair short and steal some trousers. I will do all of this for Marcus.

I turn over, back on my back, and look at the stars for a moment. Tiny yellow pinpricks that are so beautiful and so far away. I can never touch them. I can never touch beauty. I shake Alec awake. It doesn't take much. He is a light sleeper. "Alec?"

He moans groggily. "Mm?"

"Do you remember the boys we see as apprentices, the ones who work for the merchants?"

I take his silence as a yes. "Do you think we could be them?"

He is quiet for just a minute. "You couldn't be."

He cannot know how his words cut deep to the bone, how every insult I get takes me back to the moment Mother told me she didn't love me. I know Alec doesn't mean to be evil, so I ignore that. "I could, if I cut my hair short and stole some trousers."

Alec thinks. "Well, I suppose that would work. _You _could."

I stare at him and shake my head. "How now! _I _could? What about you?"

He rolls over. Is he looking at the same stars as I? It seems impossible, but it has to be true. "I don't want to."

These are his words, completely perspicacious and yet utterly muddled. "Don't _want _to? Do you think I care what you do or don't want to do? Do you think _I _want to? We need to, to survive."

"Still," he says, "I don't think I should have to."

I stare at him incredulously. "Don't _think you should have to_? What, do you want me to serve you? Ought I to bow when you enter a room, and call you king? I shall never. They can beat me with sticks and burn me at the stake and feed me to the lions, but I will never work while you sit elsewhere idly, so help me God."

He gives me a look like he is trying to figure me out. My eyes are narrow stripes across my face. "Well, if it's the only way you will. So stubborn all the time thou art, Gianni." He yawns and goes back to sleep, leaving me to ponder the stupidity of his words until at long last I know what I have to do. We have a knife here, that we use for cutting what little food we get. We stole it from a butcher long ago. This doesn't matter now. All that matters is that I pick it up. It feels cold and heavy in my hands. I take the knife, and I listen to its song as I cut. _Snip. Snip. _My hair falls to the ground in long, rich caramel shards. My tears fall to the ground as tiny little insignificant drops. I had loved my hair so much. It may have gotten tangled and snarled, thick with dirt and possibly a nit or two, but I could still remember when I was little. It used to be silky and smooth. It was something my mother was actually fond of about me, perhaps the only thing. Now I bid it farewell. I have no other choice. I look at the pile for a what seems like years, until I lose all hope of keeping track of the time. Finally I look away. It was just another thing I loved and lost. Nothing to cry over.

Marcus looks at me like he'd seen a ghost. "Gianni!" he exclaims. "You've cut your hair!"

So I have, Marcus, so I have. "I want to get a job as an apprentice," I enlighten him. I must beg him not to accompany me into town on my search, so supportive is he. Sometimes, I think he forgets that he has these fits. I doubt he remembers them. So he is not there as a thousand doors are slammed in my face, as I am turned down a thousand times. I wish to high Heaven that I had some way to render my appearance, but I have none, and that is the first thing they see. My charcoal grey face, my smudged hands, my thin frame - I am the perfect image of a street beggar. Street beggars can't get jobs, certainly can't be apprentices. The apprentices, everyone explains condescendingly, are from good, well-to-do families. Certainly not orphans from the street. I spend Alec's and my eleventh birthday searching for somewhere, anywhere that I can find work. Often I travel five miles, walking through every neighborhood in the city, knocking on the doors and asking if they need my help. Often I spend sixteen hours hunting, and sleep but seven. Would that it were judged by effort and not nobility. I should never be turned down. But it is judged by blood, and the blood in me is of peasants. So after nearly eighteen months of traveling throughout almost all of Italy, every merchant's fair we haven't robbed, I give up. We go back to being street rats.

It is nothing to me. Another hope dashed, another dream crushed. All part of the lifestyle of a street urchin. It is things like these that make me miss my mother. Why should I miss her? She died without ever missing me. But I do, and I think I will to my dying day. To my dying day, I will miss a mother who wishes I was never born.


	3. Learn to Find Your Way In Darkness

So back we go to our Neanderthal lifestyle. We steal all the food we can, and eat it all at once. Then we don't eat for a week. I am scared now, scared for our future. We are running out of options. We've traveled all throughout every merchant's fair. I can scarcely find one that's unsuspecting about our ploy. It is hard for us to eat. I am nervous. Also, we are growing out of all our clothes. So here I sit making new ones. We have no needles, so we steal cloth and I stab holes in the material. I then lead the thread through the holes. We are a collection of ruffians in our ill-fitting clothes and filthy faces. It seems like I haven't bathed in years. I think I am running out of options. I think my life is unraveling before my very eyes, and I have no idea how to stop it. I can only sit and watch as my life expires. Will we starve to death, or will we have our hands cut off for stealing? Can we be executed for all the stealing? It does not matter. If they were to cut our hands off we would not live long. I cringe at the thought of Marcus's poor hands being sliced off. My breath comes in short gasps. He would go into one of his fits, I am certain. Then they would call us mad and lock us up.

I think I might be a wicked person. I love Marcus infinitely more than I love Alec. Perhaps it is simply because of his fits. He seems so helpless, like a baby kitten. Alec is strong and tough. He is not the type of person who needs my love. I still love him, and I still care for him. But if I had to pick someone's life to save, I would save Marcus's. I could never bear it if Marcus died because of me. It is possible that is the reason I work so hard to support our little messy family. I do work hard, harder certainly than Alec or Marcus. Alec is extremely lazy. I did not think a lazy person could be born into this age, but apparently I was wrong.

For all my hard work, I do not know what to do now. I think perhaps we might have to go to another country. Perhaps France, or even England. We would have to learn a new language. I think this is impossible. We cannot even speak Italian well. No, I think we will have to stay here until we die. I have always thought there was something comforting about being buried in the same place you were birthed in. I only wish there was some way to save us. If there was a way, I'm sure I would find it by now. I have been concentrating on that and only that for years. Survival is harder than it should be.

I look around. The moon is beginning to rest beneath the earth. The sun is lighting up our little corner. I look around. Alec is sleeping peacefully. He sleeps like a newborn babe on any surface. Even the cold, hard cobblestone is like a heavenly blanket to him. Marcus is...Marcus? Where is he? I look around. He is not anywhere. I remember exactly where he was sleeping fitfully, on my right. He is not there anymore. I stand up and look around, panicked. "Marcus?" I call. Alec does not stir. I look around, searching for all the places he could have gone to. Maybe he rolled over in his sleep. Maybe he sleepwalked. Maybe he had one of his fits in his sleep. I run all around. I look in a few cornfields, a few streets. I find nothing. "Marcus!" I shout.

At last, by now Alec has probably started to awaken. I go back to our small little side street. He is rubbing the morning's confusion from his eyes. "What is wrong, Gianni?" he inquires.

"I cannot find Marcus," I sob. He pats my back, awkwardly.

"What does thee mean by this?"

I explain. "I awoke to find him nowhere in sight. I have looked any number of places, but it is as if he hath vanished."

Together, we scour the streets of Sicily, our current haunt. We look everywhere, I tell you, but he is nowhere. I can not find him at all. It is like he had turned invisible. We steal an apple and split it in half for our noonday meal. I insist on splitting my half in half. I'd save one piece for Marcus. When we find him, I will give him the apple and bring him into my arms and thank the dear Lord he is safe. At the end of the day, I sit down and I cry. Where can my dearest brother be? Will we never find him? Perhaps he has fallen into the sea and drowned. I shuddered. Dear Marcus! He cannot swim. He would fall and be swept out to sea. He might even have one of his fits and simply lay at the bottom of the sea, moving from unconscious to dead within minutes. No! I can't think like that. Perhaps he has found some wonderful source of food. Yes, that was it. He has spent the whole day smuggling food and he will come home laden with edibles.

Well, it is a ridiculous fantasy. But it is better than some murderous waking nightmare full of bloodshed.

That night I barely slept a little, but I must have. I remember a dream. I am standing on a bridge, and Marcus was drowning. He cries out to me, "Save me, Gianni! Save me!" I reach down, and somehow I can reach him. I tried to pull him out, but he grins maliciously and jerks his hand. I fall in and drown.

When I awake, there is a crowd of people standing over me. Some of them hold glowing orange lanterns. I can't count, but there aren't many. One was a bit shorter and a lot thinner than the others. I immediately recognize him. I rush to my little brother. "Marcus!" I exclaim gleefully. He stiffens as I hug him and yells, as though in pain. A few of the men shake their heads.

"Little miss," one of them, whom I suppose is the head, says, "you are under arrest for witchcraft."

If I can pick a thousand things these people will say, it will not be that. This was insanity. "What does thou mean?" I ask. "I am no witch."

Marcus twitches. His limbs jerk and his mouth goes slack. "I know you have caused these fits of madness of mine, Maria Ariana," he declares. In all my life, I have never heard that name fall from my brother's lip. I have been Gianni for as long as I can remember. "Witchcraft is not something to practice so casually."

"I have practiced no witchcraft, brother." I can barely say the words. I never dreamt I would have to. "He is a madman! Take him away!"

"And whose fault doth that be?" Marcus smirks, a horrible smile that is not born from happiness. It is born from the pain and brokenness of others.

"Marcus," I plead. "Marcus, do not do this to me. You know how many people I have loved and lost. Do not expand the list. I love you. You know this is a lie."

As I speak, his mouth moves to mimic mine exactly. "Such a show of witchcraft!" one of the men shrieks. "She is a terror. She must be locked away until the burning."

"Burning?" I echo dumbly. I have heard what they do to witches. The stories of Pietro that fascinated me so when I was younger are now more than stories. They burn them at the stake. They tie them to a pole and pile wood at their feet and light the wood on fire. How long does one last before their heart is burned? How long do they feel their own flesh be roasted? How long is the pain so white hot that one would take death a thousand other ways, just not like this?

"Yes, burning," the one answers my deepest fears. "You will be burned at the stake."

I try to cry out, "But I am only a little girl!" but I know this is not true. I have experienced far too much to be a little girl anymore. In fact, often I think I am an old woman. Such horror I have never known. This pain, this terrible method of death, inflicted upon me by my own beloved brother? This is not possible. And yet, it happens. The people drag me away.

I do not resist. I have learned that resisting only prolongs the inevitable. It only makes you hurt more and more when the final end comes at last. It makes you wonder if you could have fought more.

Without fighting, you know the end is near. You know you gave up. You know you couldn't ever fight.


	4. Who Will Be There For You

_So this is what true pain feels like, _I muse. This is what it feels like to watch your life crumble beneath your feet, to feel that horribly long second before you fall into the deep crevasse. This is what it feels like to be stabbed by your best friend. This is what it feels like to be betrayed. _How could Marcus do this?_ is my only thought through my numbness as I am dragged away. Alec doesn't even call after me, though to his credit, he does give Marcus a deeply murderous look. I need some sort of defense, to stop me from being torn apart by a torch every time someone leaves me. I go numb. I feel nothing, I hear nothing, I see nothing. A few sporadic details register. The clicking sound of the coins that Marcus receives. The dark, depressing black of the prison walls. The rough pull of strands of my hair from my scalp.

I am completely gone from my body. I do not feel like I am myself anymore. I feel like I am some spirit, hovering vaguely above my body and watching everything that happens, but not actually experiencing it. I have removed myself from the pain. I have separated body and soul, and I have protected myself. But, I wonder, which one is it that feels pain? Surely, this kind of pain goes straight to your soul.

I sit in my cell for hours. I sleep. I stare. Mostly I sleep. I have not realized how tired I am, but I certainly am very tired. For nearly my whole life, I have slept six hours a day. When my parents were still alive, I did chores enough for ten young girls. Once they died, I stole, I scavenged, I begged. All to protect Marcus.

Marcus. The name is a razor blade that cuts through me anew. I bleed freshly. I wonder, isn't there some sort of limit to how much pain a person can endure? Does the Lord never say, "Fine, this person has had enough?" Or does He continually punish some of us? It doesn't matter either way, I suppose. People have left me and people will keep doing so until my death. Mother. Pietro. Marcus. Does one knife not kill a person? Does it take three? One of which is the equivalent to five. I loved Marcus more than my own life. I would have given up the world for him, moved Heaven and Earth and Hell for my baby brother. And he sold me to a fire. He sold his soul for ten gold coins. It was about the money, I know it was. It's true that's probably more money than Alec or he have ever had. Need it to be gained like this though?

I sleep for days, I think. There is no window in my room, so I cannot tell time from there. However, sometimes when they open the door to feed me it is light. Other times it is dark. I think they must feed me sometimes at night, but I'm not sure. Perhaps they simply to not care to light the orange lanterns. It feels to me like years have passed. I feel decades older. A century has passed since I looked into Marcus's eyes and found evil staring back.

If I am to think rationally, I must know that much time cannot have gone by. They do not wait very long for death sentences. They do not prolong burnings. They want to see them, to see the fire melt my skin and watch me feel it. They enjoy watching me writhe in agony. I do not want to think about how I am going to die. I must admit, when I was feeling morbid, I envisioned starvation almost always. Never did I think I would be burned. I never thought I would be convicted of witchcraft. I never thought of a great many things.

I had always thought that the course of one's life was serpentine, twisted like a snake, forking at many turns. Now I realize it is much more confusing. It is a complex Labyrinth that no one can figure out and no one can survive.

I am sitting in my cell, awake for once. They have brought some gruel for us to eat, and I devour every last morsel. It takes like wet wood chips, but it sustains me. I have never had this much food in all my life and I am not going to waste it. I may be about to die, but my harsh upbringing has taught me that food is something you can never waste. I finish it, licking the remnants from the bowl and the spoon. I lay them beside me on the floor and I lean my head against the wall. It is damp, and I can hear rats squealing. Whether they be in the wall or in my cell, I do not know, but I hear them. This is a place of filth and muck, a place for the lowest of the low. It is the bottom of the chasm. It is the place for people to go who can go nowhere else.

Suddenly, I hear silent, snakelike whispers outside my door. Before I have time to react to this, the back wall to my room crumbles. A chilly breeze of night air sweeps through the cell. The stars seem uncharacteristically bright tonight. I see two beautiful people standing there. They are both women, but they are very young. They appear to be perhaps half a decade older than me. One has gently curled amber hair, and the other has ramrod-straight pale blonde hair. The amber-haired one has an oval shaped face, while the blonde one has a heart-shape. It is hard to tell the differences between them, though. Both their eyes are a bright scarlet, and it is their most defining feature. One breathes in. "Oh my," she gasps. "Lovely."

The blonde sniffs a little. "Oh yes. I can smell it too. This will make a tasty snack."

Suddenly I remember all my brother's legends, and a chill stops my heart. Vampires. They inch toward me, backing me into the corner. I clamber backwards, walking like a crab. They have me in the corner. "You can have the boy we took, Elsa," the topaz-haired one promises, "if you give me this one."

Elsa's mind calculates for only a fraction of a second. I remember Pietro's words: _They don't have the mind of a normal human. They can think with incredible speed and accuracy._ "Mm, your offer tempts me, Giuliana," she says, "but I don't think I'll take you up on it. The smell of the boy's fear will take away from the sweet smell of blood."

_Their noses are like animals'. They can smell every emotion, every taste, everything. _

"The girl has fear as well," Giuliana points out. "Why do thee not decide quickly, rather than wait for the fear to overcome the victim?"

Elsa nods. "I understand thy reasoning, Giulia," she states. She closes in.

_Often they suck all the blood from a victim's body, draining them completely white. _

"No," I pant quietly. I know they hear me, but they have no reaction. Elsa's teeth are nearing my neck. I can barely breathe. The little breath I have comes in short gasps. She looks at the fear in my soul, through the window of my eyes, and smiles. My breath stops completely. I recognize that smile. It is the smile Marcus smiled when I was taken away. It is the smile of a person void entirely of empathy and compassion, filled with malevolence.

I can feel it when they bite me, and I know I will not survive this. It feels like burning liquid nitrogen, hot and cold, pulsing through my veins. I can't see through my now fuzzy vision. I am freezing to death; I am burning up. I have sunburn, I have hypothermia. The venom makes me wish I was dead. I want to beg Elsa to tear me to pieces quickly. Maybe finally there will be a relief from my pain.

Suddenly, I see a flash of white, but it isn't a light. It's someone's hair. I hear an echo as someone is knocked to the ground. It seems to be too close; it reiterates in my ear. I feel blood push through my body, rush out of my neck. I am finding it harder and harder to breath. I think my lungs are disappearing. I can hear little, but a voice whispers directly in my ear.

"You are safe here," it breathes. "I won't let them hurt you."

I try to nod, try to give some indication I have heard him, but I am paralyzed by the poison. I am being stabbed to death with a thousand knives, all over my body. I am being burned at the stake. I am being boiled alive. None of these describe the pain. None of their fire is cold as this, none of the ice is hot as this. I linger in agony. I cling to life by a little string. I feel it when my blood slows down. It is not gushing from my neck anymore. The horrible, awful pain is inside of me.

I can feel it, suddenly, when my heartbeat starts to race faster and faster. It beats like a hummingbird's, like a mouse's, like...no, no animal's goes that faster. It's like a runaway horse careening through the city, a riptide pulling away a child unlucky enough to swim in the ocean. It's too fast. Inside I scream, but I can do nothing on the outside.

Then suddenly it is gone. I have no heartbeat. I am suddenly, breathtakingly alive.


	5. Comfort and Care For You

I open my eyes onto a new world.

In my time, Christopher Columbus is just discovering America. I think he has the easier job than I. I can see so clearly. It disturbs me. I can see the tiniest details in the white-haired man's face. I can see the way where the sunlight streamed in from the window, he glitters like a precious gem. I can see every little strand in his hair, neatly combed over his head. I can see each thread in his black robe, and I can see the little spaces in between them.

More than that, I can hear. I hear someone whistle a merry little tune, though they can't be where I am. I can sense walls between us, sort of like echolocation. I hear footsteps outside the door, some rushed, some leisurely. They are so loud, so clear. They sound like the drumbeats an elephant's hooves might make. I can hear that something is missing, and then I realize what it is. No one is breathing. One person in this whole building (what, exactly, was this building?) is breathing, and they are below me.

I can smell so many things. I smell myself, a strange scent that smells like a pail of water in the sun mixed with some sort of late-bloomer flower. It is difficult to describe. I can also smell - ah! I smell the blood of the breathing person beneath me, and it burns the inside of my throat. Like eating a lantern. The shards of glass puncture my tongue, and the flames burn the roof of my mouth. I barely resist tearing down the stairs and feeding. It smells _so good. _I also can smell many more like me, each with a little alteration in their flavor. Just a tiny thing, but it is there.

The white haired man leans over me, his fingers gently brushing my skin. "Hm," he mumbles, a soft mumble that no normal human should hear. "Interesting. Tell me, Gianni, what do you remember?"

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. "How do you know my name?"

He chuckled a little. "I am Aro," he announces. "Night time patron of the arts. I am the head of the Volturi...a kind of law enforcement for creatures like us."

"Creatures like us," I parrot. "Vampires." It isn't a question. I know what we are.

_They are fearsomely fast, and astonishingly strong. They can see with acute clarity, they can hear the most keenly of any species, and they have a nose ten times more powerful than ours. Their memory is ironclad, and they can analyze anything in a flash of lightning. Vampires are extremely beautiful. They shine in the sunlight. The smell of blood makes them hungry. They cannot die. _

Blood. The thought of it makes my throat catch fire again. Aro looks at me calculatingly, probably trying to read my expression. I help him out. "I am...thirsty," I confess. Is that the right word? Is blood a beverage, or the main course? Is it both?

Aro seems to accept the word "thirsty" as fine. "That's to be expected," he soothes me. "The smell of blood will be a bit uncomfortable to you for...well, forever. But it will diminish over time. You have guessed, now, what we are...?" He looks at me critically.

I respond, "Vampires." Then I realize perhaps I am wrong. Or, perhaps, we are called by a different name in this world, and "vampire" is a vulgar term. Maybe Aro will forgive me. I am new.

But no matter. It is an all right word, and he nods. "Now," he says, alluring to what he really wants to say, "how much do you remember?"

Automatically, I reply, "Everything." I cannot remember forgetting anything. But perhaps I have forgotten something that I forgot, so I reminisce, "You saved me. Those two...Elsa and Giuliana..."

"Have been dealt with," Aro finishes. I don't like the sound of that, but never mind. "Go on."

"They attacked me. You saved me. You took me here, wherever this is. I became a vampire." I recite them like Alec used to recite his times-tables, for school, a lifetime ago. They are meaningless; I say them with no feeling. Aro, however, seems to be able to hear the emotion in my voice without actually hearing any. He appears intuitive. "How did you know my name? Thou did not explain."

"I am a reader of the mind," he declares. "When I touch you, I hear every thought your mind has ever had." The very concept amazes me. I would not have been able to wrap my puny human brain around it, but my vampire mind can understand. It wows both of them. "You have not had a great life," he summarizes.

I shake my head, a little confused. "How did you become a mind reader? Can everyone do this?"

He answers, "No, no. This is a talent I was born with, at least, born in the world of the vampires with. Some vampires acquire powers after their transformation. These are particularly valuable to us."

"Powers..."I repeat. I wonder if I have any. Probably not. I am simply Maria Ariana Gianni, a simple beggar, a clueless ruffian. I have nothing. There is nothing special about me. I am worthless.

"Your brother ought to regain some form of consciousness soon," Aro remarks. Noticing my look, he informs me, "I saved him as well. Unfortunately, the venom was already in his blood."

"Marcus?" I snarl.

Aro shakes his head vigorously. "No," he corrects. "Alec."

Well, this is the oddest twist of fate, the strangest thing. If I had ever expected anyone that I would spend the rest of my life with, it would not have been Alec. Marcus, my mother, Pietro, yes. Alec, no.

He seems to sense this, so he shifts the subject. "I wonder if you have any powers," he muses. "You would be very useful to us if you did."

"How would I be able to tell?" I question him.

"Well, we could test thee by angering you," he suggests. I shrug my shoulders. I care not very much either way. He stares me in the eye and says just one word. "Marcus."

The effect is instantaneous. He falls to the ground, looking as though he is writhing in pain. I am horrified that I am doing this to him. I must stop - but how? I can feel something between Aro and I, my power, connecting us like a gossamer thread. I tug on it mentally, and it breaks. He stands up. "Well," he says loudly. "You've certainly got yourself a talent."

I can only nod. I have a talent. I test it on the scent of blood I can smell downstairs. I reach out my string, lasso the mortal. I can hear a scream from below, and I flinch just a little. But I imagine it is Marcus, and then I smile. I want to laugh, laugh at Marcus's imagined pain. My gift is a good one. It suits me.

I _am _worthy. I am worth something to someone. Finally, perhaps, someone will not abandon me. I have something that makes me valuable. My mother left because I had nothing. Marcus - my mind twists around the name, barely able to think it - left because something else was better. Aro and the Volturi will not leave me. I am precious to them. I am useful. I will not be left behind.

This is why, when Aro asks me if I want to join him, I say yes.


	6. Learn to be Your One Companion

So I join the Volturi. It is not as horrible as it might seem. They are very kind and caring to people who obeyed the law. The only reason they seem menacing was that they dealt entirely with people who broke the law, and they are unkind to criminals. Law, singular form. I soon learned there was only one law for vampires; never tell anyone you were a vampire. I broke that law only once, but even Aro would have agreed I had good reason. If I had told him.

I went to see Marcus. No, "see" is not the correct word. I went to kill him.

Marcus was living in a little cottage, working for the witch persecutors as an informer. He had bought the cottage with his own money. I knew this; I had stalked him in a few weeks prior to the killing. I told Aro I was thirsty and wanted to feed, which was not at all a lie. I just didn't tell him on _whom _I wanted to feed. I ran to the cottage, appearing in the window in seconds. I stood as still as stone in his window, waiting for him to notice me. When he finally did, it was a mini second before recognition surfaced. I must have looked different. I used to have short, choppy brown hair and haunted eyes. Now I had long silky chestnut hair, and my eyes shone with a chiaroscuro light.

The moment he saw me, I ran and opened the door and came into his house, too quickly for his human brain to process. The smell of his blood was as sweet as sugar, but I made myself resist. I wanted to be able to hold back, to resist, to kill painfully before I feasted. "Marcus," I greeted him coolly. His eyes filled with an all-consuming terror, and I licked my lips. This was delicious. "You betrayed your sister. You betrayed me."

I had intended to do this without feeling. Love knows no reason or rhyme, but hatred is as calm and focused as love is erratic. But the moment I saw him, my confidence all melted like wax. I couldn't forget that this was my kid brother who had tried to kill me. "I would have died for you, Marcus," I choked out. "I would have done anything for you. I would have slit my own throat or Alec's. I would have moved the sky and sea to get you a crumb of bread you requested. And you left me behind, like I was something you'd stepped in." I gestured to the little abode. "Are you happy here? Are you really, truly happy?"

He stared at me. "Yes. I am."

I met his gaze, and I held it. I watched him flinch under my unmoving, unblinking ruby eyes. "You would do it all again?"

Marcus laughed. "I hated you, Maria Ariana," he lied. "You held us back. You made us try to earn money nobly. You of all people should know the best way isn't strewn with luxuries. It's not always the most morally correct way. It's whatever way is for you. I killed you. You kill me. We're even."

His words sliced through me, and the pain was worse than being turned into a vampire. If I had no words strong enough to describe the transformation, I had no emotion strong enough to describe the hatred and pain I felt as I sunk my teeth into his neck. It was a quick and painless death. I was kinder to him than he deserved.

I am now a member of the Volturi, and I have completely accepted this. My first grand movement with them is eradicating the immortal children. I tell Aro secretly that I didn't think I could kill the children themselves. I don't enjoy killing the innocent, whatever misconceptions people have about me. I deal with the creators. It is easy for me. I imagine they are Marcus. It wasn't difficult. Both people had created something terrible, uncontrollable, irresistible. The vampires created immortal children; Marcus was my brother. As the time passed, and I watched covens be decimated, fight to the last man, it became easier for me to eliminate the children. For after all, everything was their fault. They may not know it. They may be unaware. But they are the cause of extreme pain and torture and bloodshed. Wasn't it best to attack the root of the problem first?

I remember most of all the story of Vasilii. He had a strange coven protecting him. Somehow, they coexist with each other, and they numbered four. There are very few actual covens now. They are mainly mates or, more often, single nomads. If there happens to be an actual coven, there is usually three members and constant discord. But these vampires are strange. Their eyes are golden brown, like a pie crust when it's just out of the oven. They tell us they feed on animal blood, not human. They are like our good friend Carlisle. But Carlisle would never do such a thing. They would. They did.

I don't remember the names very often, but I remember the Denali coven's names. I especially remember the name Kate. We visit America, a special "surprise attack". Kate has a skill similar to mine. Aro tries to attack her, and he falls on the ground, weakened. "Why are you here?" she demands.

"Don't pretend you are ignorant," I snarl. "It's only the child we want. Give us the child, and we will leave in peace."

Confusion surfaces in her eyes, burying the defense. "Child? What child?"

Aro touches her face, where she has none of the strange fire. He stays completely still for a second, becoming a marble statue. "She does not know," he finally announces. By now the other members have gathered around her, making a battle formation. Their names are permanently etched into my mind, carved as though with a knife. Irina, a beautiful young girl with hair so blond it looks silver. It seems to sparkle. Tanya, a strawberry blonde who looks as if she'd normally be the life of the party. Sasha, a woman a few years older, hair as black as ink. And a newborn, with blood red eyes: Aviva. Irina, Aviva and Tanya look to Kate and to each other, searching for answers in the question marks of each other's eyes. They find nothing. Sasha seems worried, however. Aro springs and attacks her, getting his hands on her face. "It is this one," he declares after a fraction of a second's pause.

"You cannot kill him!" she shrieks. "We will keep him under control. We will keep him away from civilization. We can promise you."

"Actually, miss, you can promise nothing," Aro corrects harshly. "He is wild. He is feral. He is a beast. He must be imprisoned and destroyed."

Aviva stands in front of Sasha. "No, don't!" she whines. Aro and I communicate wordlessly. I attack without any contest, tearing her to white shreds. Aro takes his torch and burns each piece, so they cannot reform. "To arms!" he cries, and we assemble into our formation. There is no contesting the Volturi, however. Aro throws the torch onto Sasha, with the baby boy in her arms. He is a lovable child, with cute curly red hair and dimples and cheeks that almost look red. But he is dangerous. He must be killed.

I remember the burning of the Denali coven because it was the only burning in which the mother was burned with the child in her arms. I heard her scream of pain as she burned, and I heard the child's wailing. I turn away, wishing I could cry. It reminds me of Marcus when he was a baby. Mother always used to call on me, even when I was only two years old, because only I could make him stop crying and give the family peace.

Was he evil even then, I wonder? Even as a baby, was I only a pawn, to play upon my emotions, make me work for his gain?

This is why I joined the Volturi. Because when the law is used, rationally and calmly, it is a thing of wonder and justice and beauty. When the law upholders are thrown into disarray, chaos resumes. I want to stop this. I want to ensure that we are never manipulated for someone's gain. I want to ensnare everyone who so thoroughly shatters the people who love them.

There was one thing and one alone about the Volturi that I could not deal with, and that was Marcus Volturi. I couldn't stand to have them call me Gianni, since it was what my brother Marcus used to call me. That was why I changed my name to the English form, Jane. Occasionally, I called Marcus Volturi Marco, but the name never stuck. It was only after time was a cooling balm on my wounds, and finally the memory didn't stab me repeatedly whenever I heard the name, that I could speak to Marcus and say his name. At the very least, the Marcus of the Volturi tried to make everything better for me. And he meant it.


	7. Never Dreamed Out In The World

Our next step as the crime management is to take out the werewolves. They are wreaking havoc on all of Europe. During the full moon, no town is safe. Vampires come to us, begging for help and protection. We happily oblige, since we are curious about this species. They have lain semi-dormant for a few centuries, not breeding hardly at all. But I suppose they got bored. Now the pack sizes are exploding. As I said before, we are curious. What teeth can tear through such marble-hard flesh? What powerful legs can outrun our lightning speed?

We soon find out. They send the main five; Aro, Marcus, Caius, Alec, and me. I am used to torture them, to find out more about them. Who else is in their pack? Where is the rest of the pack members? Aro can not touch them, because their teeth are too quick and too powerful. He first attempts to touch the first one we see, whose name is Adolfo, and the wolf's teeth slice through his hand. It is unnatural to see such jagged edges along a vampire's skin. We all have venom scars; that is nothing new. However, our teeth make perfectly smooth lines. The only thing that can make jagged lines is an animal, and animals do not bother vampires.

So I torture them instead. I can make them betray their deepest, darkest secrets, but I don't care. I only want to know what we need. In this respect I sadly remind myself of my mother. I care nothing for when they told me of how they cheated on their wives or injured their brothers. I am a machine. I do what Aro tells me to do, and nothing else.

There were actually only a few packs - the Italian pack, the Portuguese pack, and the German pack. We first travel to Portugal, because a Portuguese vampire appeals to us. We hear footsteps one day outside our castle walls as we are plotting the werewolves' demise and practicing our battle skills. "I shall get it," I announce, and I run to the door. A tall female vampire twice my height with coal-black hair and eyes to match is standing at the threshold. I smile an angelic smile, tinged with malevolence. "What can we do for thee?" I ask.

"Please," she says in Portuguese. "You must help me. My entire coven has been destroyed save me. It was the werewolves. I found the pieces, the ones left behind..." She buries her face in her hands and makes a soft noise. I know what she is doing. She is wishing she could cry.

I lift the drawbridge above my head. "Come on in," I invite in her native tongue. Yelena implores us, then, to try to help her. She tells of how she saw the pieces, and just keeps repeating it, over and over. "I saw the pieces. I saw the pieces." I could have told her that reopening the cut is a messy way of healing. It takes years of doing it, over and over again, until finally you no longer notice the pain. It never completely obliterates it.

Aro dismisses her, promising her problem will be reviewed and solved. "We must help her," Alec insists. "There is a risk with the werewolves. If we allow them to continue feeding, sooner or later someone will notice them. Their exposure could mean ours as well."

Caius nods. "That is true," he agrees. "Humans are beginning to become more ignorant. They think we are nonexistent. We have become a story older brothers tell to scare their younger siblings." He laughs a little. "We are beginning to coat their knowledge with skepticism. We do not want to risk that."

Marcus concurs, "You are exactly correct. We must eliminate these so-called werewolves before they become a greater problem."

"But how?" I query. "They appear to have been designed to eliminate _us. _Their teeth can cut through our skin; they can outrun us; their scent is absolutely repugnant to us, so we hesitate to drink their blood."

"Did you notice what Yelena said, about how the moment she bit one, it dropped to the ground, immediately dead?" Aro inquires. We all nod collectively and murmur our agreement. "I believe our venom is like poison to them. Like we are some type of murderous snake. We can use this against them."

"So it is settled?" Caius clarifies. "We will go to Portugal?"

We all agree in unison. Since we are vampires and need no rest, we stop only to feed. I select, for my victim, a fat old man sleeping in his bed. I drain him dry and dispose of the body. His wife does not even stir, since I kill her first. Newly energized by blood, I run to Portugal. With the aid of human blood, we can run so fast we are literally invisible. Therefore, we run directly to Portugal. It only takes about two hours. We are so fast. We are lethal. I think we are invincible.

I am about to be proved wrong.

We wait until it is dark, and then we see the werewolves. Our superb night vision is a great assistance, and we break off and herd them together. Once they are all in one place, we commence to biting them. Our powers are hardly even necessary. Alec does incapacitate them, and Chelsea's mate Afton uses his powers of telekinesis against them to stun them a bit. He is hardly needed, however, with Alec and I. I bite a few. I remember not their names. What I remember, however, is our encounter with the Italian werewolves.

As per usual, we gather them and then hunt them. We bite; they die. It seems quite simple. What I remember is the unknown and undefined form kilometers away rapidly developing into a werewolf. What I remember is it leaping for Caius, tearing him to white shreds. What I remember is Aro screaming at me, yelling "Jane, get the pieces!" What I remember is collecting the fragments of my guardian and fleeing. What I remember is a muddy human memory resurfacing.

_I was five years old, and I was doing something I shouldn't. Why is it that we always remember the problems, never the solutions? I had climbed on top of a stack of box-shaped objects I'd found around the house. I was trying to reach Mother's porcelain doll. As my clumsy baby-shaped hands grasped at the little doll, it tipped over, and it landed on the wooden floor. It broke into a million tiny pieces._

_This had been a beautiful doll, a wonderful work of art. It had vermilion lips and wide, owl-like lapis lazuli eyes. Its dress was real, sewed from colorful floral fabric. It had actual hair secured in its head, I never did find out how. The thick, luscious brunette hair was held in place with a miniature ribbon. Its shoes were real wooden shoes, making it look Dutch. Mother treasured it, the only thing I'd ever seen her show any affection for besides her sons. She would whip me so when she found out!_

_Futilely, I tried to sweep up the little white segments. It was to no avail. Mother walked in presently and screamed. "You worthless wretch!" she screeched. "As God as my witness you will pay for this!" I was whipped and locked in the attic for a week, and fed only twice. This was a normal punishment for me. _

This time, will the consequences be just as great? If I fail to save Caius, would someone punish me as severely as Mother? Only, will that someone be myself?

The werewolves have taken some of the pieces. It will require Caius's great strength for him to put himself back together. He will have to recall parts from over fifty miles away, which is difficult for vampires to do. It is as if there is a line between greater than fifty miles and less than. Less than is easy; greater than is quite difficult. We gather his parts in a Pandora's box of sorts. I lift the lid and allow the parts we had to reassemble themselves. He is missing an eye, great big chunks of his left arm, and a large piece from his side.

It takes him days to fix himself. In these days, we abstain from feeding. We mostly stay in our rooms, reading and educating ourselves. Aro and Marcus become statues chiseled from ice until finally, a week later, Caius becomes whole again. We rejoice with a feeding frenzy in Albania, celebrating the eradication of the werewolves and Caius's rebirth. Caius has not abandoned us, or me. All is well.


	8. There Are Arms To Hold You

The Romanian coven attacks us. I never knew this crucial part of our history, but apparently we took control of the vampires over the coven. Stefan and Vladimir were their names. They scare me very much. Their skin is like blank white paper, pale and hard. Their eyes seem redder, their skin seems to shine with power.

When Aro informs me the Romanian coven is attacking us, I stare at him blankly. He takes me into his study, where he shows me portraits he made of the coven. Even for vampires, their skin seems pallid and stony. Aro explains they allowed themselves to petrify for nearly a millenium, and their eyes are now crystal clear. They can see almost a hundred times better than a vampire. As he explains this, my eyes wandered. I could see every miniscule detail. I could see each eye on a daddy longlegs spider that happened to crawl into the room.

How could they possibly have such skilled eyesight? And if they do, how can we ever beat them?

They completely tear down the door with their bare hands. Our beautiful door, constructed completely of scrap wood, and made into a mosaic of different shades of brown, is gone. We gather our members at the door. Alec and I head the formation. Behind us is Demetri, Corin and Heidi. Corin is able to affect people's emotions, but he is very limited; he can only make people feel what he is feeling and think what he is thinking. However, he could be useful here. Surely he is thinking of loyalty to the Volturi. If he makes them think that, it will be harder for them to kill us.

Our third row is Chelsea, Felix, Renata, and Santiago. We try to gravitate around defending Felix and Santiago, since they have no gifts. We have heard the Romanians were very talented at fighting, but they are no match for Alec. He incapacitates the one on the right - Stefan. I burn the other, Vladimir. They are no contest. We tear them to pieces. At least we are kind enough to not burn them. However, we do scatter the pieces, making it infinitely harder for them to reassemble themselves.

I am just a little concerned. I can no longer feel it when I kill people, when I rip them to shreds or watch them scream in agony, begging me for mercy. I can't feel every bit of their pain, like I used to be able to. I am as hard as rock, untouchable, unbreakable. Insensitive.

Maybe it is better like this. Maybe it is best for me to not be able to feel it. If I can't feel it when I burn people, maybe I can't feel it when they burn me. Maybe the scar Marcus has left is finally beginning to heal. New skin, tentative, a thin, papery layer, had formed. It is gossamer, it is small, but it might be there.

I am a member of the Volturi, I remind myself. We are a machine. We kill; it is what we do. Aro has no problem killing the offenders. I need to be like Aro. Aro is so wise, so reasonable, so eloquent. He is a natural leader, born to assist society. Caius and Marcus respect him; his guard protects him. He is loyal, he is strong of spirit. I wish I had some of his good qualities. But the only thing I am worthy for is torture.

Fine, then. I will be a torturer. It will be my job, my role to torture. I will do it for Aro; I will do it for Alec; I will do it for me. Mostly, however, I will do it for my brother Marcus.

Aro has made a new friend, we find out a couple decades later. His name is Carlisle, and he has a strange way of feeding. He hunts only animals. To be frank, he repulses me. He makes such sacrifices. He goes against his natural diet. And for what? Truly, in the end, what does he gain over us? What advantage has he?

Advantageous or no, Aro invites Carlisle "for dinner". In truth, no one eats. It would be like inviting a vegetarian human to a smokehouse. The only thing is that Aro wants to introduce Carlisle to Alec, Marcus, Caius and I. I answer the door, as I always do. I am not sure why this task falls to me, but somehow it does. I find myself looking at a tall, strong man, very buff beneath a flowing white shirt he is wearing. He is strange, though, in a familiar way. His eyes are like a fawn's skin; soft and light brown and kind.

"You must be Carlisle," I greet him in my mellifluous mezzo-soprano voice. "I am Jane."

"Indeed, I am Carlisle," he responds, his voice a honeyed baritone. "Aro invited me."

"Is that what makes the eyes golden?" I blurt. "Eating only animals?"

He smiles condescendingly and nods. "Yes, when one has just feasted on animal blood it turns the eyes a color from yellow to brown."

I lift the drawbridge further. "Come in."

It is a very interesting meeting. Carlisle tells us of his inspiration to become a doctor, and we nod and pretend to know what he is talking about when he talks of some "higher purpose". I have never been particularly religious. True, I was born and raised strictly Roman Catholic, but my gift is to make people experience hell. I personally feel that there are shades of Heaven and hell on earth, and nothing after we leave.

Aro tells him of our history, and even I learn some things about what happened before I joined. Aro has always been a gifted storyteller, and the Volturi's history is a fascinating story to hear. I feel like I am back in my own home, listening to Pietro tell his wild vampire stories. A pang of horror fills my heart as I remember Pietro. If I could dream, I am certain his cold, hard skin and vacant eyes would haunt me forever.

But I must be strong. I must never portray any weakness. Why must I never portray any weakness? I do not know, but subconsciously, I never allow myself to show pain or fear. I think I am still, after all these years, trying to impress my mother. I think I am still trying to be the son she always wanted. I register only faintly every detail of Carlisle's conversation with Aro, Marcus and Caius. I am still thinking about my mother.

However, once I start paying attention to Carlisle, I realize I like him. He is very genuine and kind. He is amiable and pleasant. He is everything I wish I could be, and nothing that I am. But still, he is polite to me. I like him very much. He is an accomplished man. Maybe sometime I can try to work on being a better person. But for now, I have to work on surviving. For now, I work on enduring the pain.


	9. You've Always Known

For four centuries, we lie mostly dormant. There is little need for us. All vampires are beginning to understand that we have a sort of trust going here. Humans are beginning to trust that vampires are human. Science is disproving the oldest and most often told myths, and we are disappearing along with the myths. Vampire legends are becoming exactly that, legends. Once a decade or so, there are a few vampires who go crazy and start throwing cars or going on a feeding frenzy. But other than that, we have a sense of peace.

We acquire new members with extraordinary skills. One of our most wonderful members is a man named Eleazar. Eleazar has a gift for finding out other people's gifts, and Aro values him nearly as highly as he does me. Eleazar is a great member, one of our best attributes. I like him very much. I cannot say enough good things about him.

But then he meets a female vampire, Carmen, and he left. He up and leaves. He tells us we are no better than brutal newborns and we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. Ashamed of ourselves? I think we should be proud. We are held in the highest esteem by all upstanding, law-upholding vampires. I am glad to be rid of him if he is going to tell such falsehoods. Everyone knows we are not the ones to blame for the disarray vampires cause in the mortal world. We are the ones who try to correct it.

As we enter the twenty-first century, the strangest thing happens. One day we are sitting peacefully in our new, renovated headquarters. A lived-in castle would look a bit too suspicious in the modern world, so we got a wonderful new office building. We pretend to be a mythologist corporation. Ha! The very idea. Suddenly a vampire comes to us; I can smell it. In an instant I am right at the door for our floor. Gianna, our current human secretary, calls Aro and Marcus and Caius over the intercom. I start to come, thinking they might be in need of a guard, and then stop. If someone was planning to hurt them, would they consult with Gianna first?

I walk to a spot where the floor is thin, so I can clearly hear what is going on ten floors below me. "I am Edward Cullen," I hear an unfamiliar voice announce. The voice is certainly that of a vampire's; it flows like warm honey, and is just as sweet.

"Cullen, you say?" Aro muses. "Any relation to the noble Carlisle Cullen?"

A brief pause. Then: "He is my father."

Father is an odd word, one vampires rarely use. We tend to use _creator _or some other synonym, but not often father. The implication is incorrect. I wonder if Aro notices. He doesn't appear to. He just charges on. "And why do you come to visit the Volturi on this day?"

"I am - was - in love with a human girl," he declares. I furrow my eyebrows as I listen. What immortal would do such a thing? It's true, I have heard of incubuses and succubuses, but I always thought they were another piece of the legend manufactured by humans. They are like garlic or crucifixes or sleeping in coffins; they have no basis in fact. But maybe this Edward Cullen is an incubus. Who am I to say something doesn't exist?

"That's interesting. Continue," Aro directs. I sniff and I realize Aro is ever so discreetly touching Edward. I am sure he notices, but I am also sure he doesn't know the meaning.

"If you had been patient I would have explained my thoughts," Edward chuckles. This Edward confuses me very much. How would he know that Aro is a mind reader? Perhaps he is like Eleazar.

"The aroma of her blood - ah! It is lovely," Aro laments. "I wish I could taste it." There is a brief silence. "I apologize for my lack of decorum. How thoughtless of me," he says. "I must consult with my partners and some choice members of my guard regarding your request," he informs him in his serious tone. "I will return presently."

I hear his lithe footsteps as he walks leisurely up to the top floor. I open the door to my room and call to him. "Aro!"

He turns to me. "Jane, I need your assistance," he states the obvious. I am sure he knows I was listening. "Yours and Alec's." I am in front of him in a millisecond. He calls a meeting, and within a few seconds Marcus, Caius and Alec are seated around a table. "This boy Edward Cullen wants us to kill him."

I gave him a critical look. Why in the world would a vampire want to die? Oh, right. Because of the human girl Bella. He would sacrifice all that for a human? A mortal? My first reaction is to scoff at him. But it might be fun to kill him. "I say yes," I respond almost immediately.

"We must vote first, Jane," he reminds me. I know this, but I like to get my vote out there, if only because I think it sways Alec. "All in favor?"

No hands raise. "He is the creation of Carlisle Cullen?" Marcus clarifies. Aro nods. Marcus's hands stay firmly planted on the table.

"Think carefully before making your decision," Aro warns. "He certainly appears to genuinely want to die. I've never seen anything like it in a mind. Such sadness..." He shakes his head. I mentally correct him. Whatever sadness this boy is feeling, it cannot possibly match being betrayed by his most trusted friend. This girl did not double-cross him; she just had the misfortune to die. It is not her fault. She did not consciously do it to hurt him.

"My vote remains the same," I state.

"Mine as well," Alec follows.

"And mine." Marcus.

"Mine." Caius. Aro nods.

"Fine then," he resigns. "I will be the one to tell the boy." He starts downstairs, and we all follow him. It is rather a treat to see him in person. He is rather handsome, with his mahogany hair and the same strange yellow eyes that Carlisle has. When he sees us, he backs up a little. We are rather a sight, in our matching dark robes and red wine eyes. "Edward," Aro greets him.

"Aro," Edward replies in kind, even mimicking his stiff nod.

"We have decided not to kill you," Aro notifies him. His countenance changes from expectance to disappointment. "I am sorry, but I think we are in agreement that doing so would offend Carlisle."

He curls his finger under his chin and nods. "I see," he comments unnecessarily. "I thank you for your time," he says without any real gratitude, and then leaves. We go back to our normal business without a word about the interruption. Aro and I discuss a bit of unnecessary strategy.

"Who do you have standing guard?" I inquire.

"Felix and Demetri," he replies.

"It is a wise choice," I condone. "However, what would be to happen if we got word of someone overseas? Do not you agree Demetri would be the best? And yet he will not be of much use if he be standing guard."

"We can contact him easily," Aro corrects. "I think it may be best if I discuss battle plans with Marcus and Caius, Jane."

"Fine," I agree amiably. "I have but one question."

"Ask it, and you will receive the answer if it is in my wealth of knowledge."

"How did Edward know you can read minds?"

"Because Edward can read minds himself," Aro explains. "He knew just what I was thinking the moment I walked in - perhaps sooner. I was the blind one there."

"Interesting," I cogitate. "He would be a useful tool."

"Think you I do not know that?" Aro laughs. "I plan to seek him in the future. But let's not be hasty. He's in pain now, and we wouldn't want to scare him away."

I understand very little about that. The Volturi is a source of pain relief. They have been my protectors since I really was only eleven. However, I am beginning to realize not everyone sees us in a benign light. To some, we are the villains. I cannot fathom why this is so, but it is so.

It happens later that day, or perhaps a few days later; I have little concept of the passage of time. I watch from my window as Felix and Demetri speak to Edward as he steps into the light. I alert Aro immediately. Edward is extremely insane. He is beyond all hope of mental health. Aro sends me and Alec after them, with instructions to bring them back to the Volturi alive.

It is time for me to meet Bella Swan.


End file.
